


A Moment Alone in Time

by bluemoonwings



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Committed Relationship, F/F, Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemoonwings/pseuds/bluemoonwings
Summary: From Kara's POV, a sensory experience with Cat before bedtime.





	A Moment Alone in Time

**Author's Note:**

> For Delightful Danvers, my muse. Also, for Cyndaminthia, my muse from another fandom, who inspired this piece, and so many others like it. It didn't fit in with my other fics, but suddenly, I have found a place for it.

            You sit faced away now, your hair drawn from the soft skin of your neck. It was not a moment ago that you looked at me, laughed gently over your shoulder, and reached for a bottle of lotion which is your nightly ritual. The TV show we were watching, projected on the wall opposite the bed, is little more than added shades and lights, and background noise.

 I was sitting here nibbling on the rare midnight snack of sugar-preserved roses, citrus peels, and other unlikely candies of that sort. I set it aside on the nightstand and reach out to you as you rub a bead of lotion between your palms to warm it before spreading it on your arms, with extra care on your left elbow and then your right. You know I am watching, with a serene sort of awareness.

Here still is the back of your neck, beckoning to me in the soft light. I reach out and lay the back of my index finger against it, brushing away a stray bit of hair and then feeling the hardness of bone beneath the cool skin. My touch is not firm but as gentle as I might touch a baby’s head as you bend your neck just enough for me to follow the gentle arch created to the loose neckline of your nightgown. You make a very short, relaxed, humming noise. You glance over your shoulder and I see just a flash of violet light in your eyes.

            I reach over for the plate beside me and break a small piece of the candy. I shift up behind you and reach around to offer it. Unhurried, you accept a bite, nipping my fingertips playfully. I pop the tiny remainder into my mouth. It is cool as the night, and bursts with fresh citrus, sweetened with sugar, dense, tender, and chewy at once, with the familiar notes of tart and bitterness. It isn’t your favorite but I enjoy the complexity. You introduced me to it. I’m always thankful. I take a tiny bit of rose petal, which is much sweeter and more floral, and feed that to you next. You nod your approval and then make that humming noise again as my hands land on your shoulders and squeeze firmly.

            We work in a comfortable tandem for a few minutes, me, massaging, and you rolling your shoulders this way and that to indicate where you want more or less pressure, and even laughing when my thumb works into a sensitive spot. You are tight with the tension of the day, and yet you have never complained or acted put out. I know I am often not as attentive as I wish I could be.

            You still hold the small bottle of lotion in your hands. “Let me?” I ask softly, almost touching the shell of your ear. My fingers loop up behind your head and rub the tightness there and trace the line down again onto your neck. You pass me the bottle over your shoulder. I take it as you cross your arms in front of you, take the hem of your gown in your hands, and pull it off over your head, leaving you in a pair of pale panties with a soft lace waistband. I am frozen for a moment and bite my lip as I watch your tall stretch, shifting muscle and bone. You’re a little lighter than I realized, and I imagine it’s because you’ve been running around so much you haven’t had time to eat as regularly as I would like. Such sacrifices. I say nothing. I know you’re sensitive about it, but there’s no criticism here.

            Now my touch is firm, almost hard, as I walk my fingers down your spine, firmly massaging over where I know you gather soreness. Though I brush my hands down your side and I cannot help but feel the indication of your breasts, I avoid them, and let myself travel to either side of your waist and then hips. I wrap my arms around them and shift my weight backwards to pull you firmly onto the bed. You give a sharp little squeal of surprise but quickly become relaxed and pliable in my hands again.

            I shift your weight to one side and extend your arm over your head to create a long line in your side. I hold you steady with one hand on your right hip while I pull your forearm away gently for a long stretch. I guide my hand down your arm, and our fingers suddenly lace together before you shift over to the other side and we stretch the other side. I sense the shifting, just here and there, and you give little shakes here and there to settle your warming muscles.

            The backs of my fingers drag from the waistband of your panties all the way up on either side of your spine, a gentle, and slow scratching sensation that I follow up with my palms, this time with lotion warmed between them. I work the liquid into your flawless skin patiently, trying to get it just right. Not too much or too little, until I am almost to your pelvis, where I apply more pressure in slow circles of my thumbs to your lower back and right over your tailbone. My fingers steal underneath the edging of lace, which yields as soft as spiderweb. I can feel the beginning of the swelling of your backside on either side of my hand, but here I leave you.

            I crawl over to your left side and smooth the lotion down your thigh, not lingering anywhere specific, but paying attention to your knee. You fiddle absently with the sleeve of my t-shirt which makes me suddenly conscious that I am not dressed as prettily as you for bed. I wear a worn old shirt and boxer shorts with an elastic waistband. I feel almost naked under your eyes, which is not uncommon. I acquiesce as you push my shirt up and then pull it off of me. I know you don’t like to be unevenly exposed. I’m cold now, and self-conscious of my breasts but you’ve seen them so many times before, I let go of my shyness.

            As if I haven’t noticed, I let my lotioned hands trail down your shin and around your calf, which you flex for me to ask for a massage before I move down over your ankle, rotating your foot in its natural path, and manipulating it to work warmth into the heel, arch, and ball. I push on it a little and notice the splay as if you were stepping, and rub your toes after.

            Rather than come in front of you, I retrace myself and down the right side of you now, laying my hands upon the warmth of your thigh, squeezing just a little as I slide down. I run out of lotion, so I pause only briefly to get more and warm it before continuing. My fingers press up into the back of your knee and you give a little reflexive twitch and press your lips together before looking away. Your skin is covered suddenly with goosebumps that only gradually relax as I work back down your right leg and onto the ankle, which I cannot help but caress. Your legs are so long, lean, and muscular. I press a kiss on your knee. You brush some hair, escaping my loose, messy braid, from my face. Your fingers linger on the back of my head and flick my braid now, with easy affection. It spills loose in your hands, striations of browns and golds.

            I come up and look you in the face. You seem so relaxed and yet ever so slightly breathless. I know what it feels like, because I am exactly the same. You’re beautiful, your whole face a work of art made of individual masterpieces laid together just so. A mix of delicate and keen, wise, and strong. To me, you seem otherworldly. I am so mundane compared to you, but you lean in and touch your lips to mine, a featherlight kiss. I don’t want to shut my eyes; seeing you is a spiritual practice.

            We shift and scoot now under the heavy covers against the cold, and our bodies press up flush together. How could we have ever been cold now? Now, we almost burn. You kiss me again as I stroke your hair. It’s much finer than mine. You give that little laugh you do, and roll upon me. I can barely breathe, but not because of the weight. _What do you want?_ I know my eyes ask you. I don’t want to assume or take more than you want to give. I didn’t start this for me.

            Your hands are traveling up and down my sides and dipping into all my weak spots, not enough for me to be released; just teasing and touching. I feel myself come awake in another way, fully now. Your lips taste sweet to me as I let myself roam over your bare back and ribs with grasping digits and open palms. I am still asking what you want and am thrilled quietly by your assertiveness.

            Finally, with mischief in your eyes, you bend your head and place your mouth against my ear so that I feel every word that you enunciate, not loudly, but not whispering either, so there can be no mistake as to what your will is.

            “Close your eyes.”

           


End file.
